


Tryst

by iamladyloki



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dark Side Rey, F/M, Injury, One Shot, Smuggler Ben Solo, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-22 21:14:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13772697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamladyloki/pseuds/iamladyloki
Summary: Kira Ren isn't ready to die, not when her handsome smuggler finds her among the rubble and promises to save her life.(It started out as a tryst, how did it end up like this? It was only a tryst, it was only a tryst!)





	Tryst

**Author's Note:**

  * For [paynesgrey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/paynesgrey/gifts).



The distressing wail of ship alarms beat a chorus against Kira Ren’s eardrums. Everything around her is burning, a vast expanse of crumbling tech and ships. It seems to her that the world is falling apart, just like her own body.

The gash across her abdomen is agonizing, but the pain is beginning to lessen. Perhaps she is dying. She is not afraid to die, but she would have preferred to die somewhere else, some other way. She’s gripping the wound as though she can hold herself together, trying to remain tethered to the world of the living a little longer.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” a deep male voice says from somewhere on her right. He sighs. She closes her eyes, a grunt her only acknowledgement. Of course he would find her among the rubble and the dead.

Ben Solo drops to his knees beside her, carefully inspecting her wound. Her eyes are still closed, but she can sense the worry coming off of him in waves. A waste of concern, in her opinion.

“What are you doing?” she asks in alarm, eyes snapping open. Her voice is weak even to her own ears. His arms have come around her to scoop her up. She can feel a small gush of blood from the wound which had otherwise slowed to a trickle, likely from blood loss.

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m trying to save your life,” he says, rolling his eyes. He carries her onto the ship she has come to both love and hate. Hate, because being on board means she is indulging in her weakness. Love, because her time with this smuggler is the only time she feels true, untainted joy.

He sets her down on the booth around his father’s old Dejarik table. The wound is throbbing painfully again, and stars are starting to dot her vision. She hears a medical droid roll out, and Ben commanding it to do what it can to save her.

The droid sets to work, clipping away her clothing so that it has access to her wound. An unpleasant tugging sensation follows. Her vision and hearing are beginning to tunnel, and she knows she won’t be able to fight unconsciousness much longer. A hand lifts her head enough to place it on a warm leg as a pillow. She can feel him brushing back her hair in reassurance.

She can’t explain the sudden emotion that is constricting her chest other than that she isn’t ready to die. She really, truly does not want to go, not while this blasted boy who cares too much is carding his fingers through her hair in a gesture of comfort. He’s saying something to her, but her hearing has failed her, and then darkness swallows her whole.

* * *

Awareness comes to her slowly, and she momentarily forgets where she is. She can feel the vibrations of a moving ship through the thin padding of a bunk mattress. Pushing away the blanket draped over her, she swings her legs over the side of the bunk and tries to orientate herself.

Right. The Millennium Falcon. She had spent enough time with Ben in this very bunk when the need for a good romp overwhelmed them both. She never stayed long, just enough to scratch an itch, but she can’t help feeling relieved to be here. It is a strange emotion, one she normally would not allow herself to feel.

Ben had dressed her in a robe, and she is otherwise naked except for her undergarments. The medical droid must have completely destroyed her outfit. She can’t help but feel annoyed at this development; she had been fond of that one, and isn’t sure when she’ll be able to go back to her ship, which is currently in Dathomirian airspace, to get her change of clothes.

The wound is covered in a black bacta patch. She pokes the skin around it and finds that she is still numb from whatever drug the droid had injected.

That’s how Ben finds her, awkwardly poking at her stomach repeatedly while still a little drugged. That’s her excuse, at least, for why she didn’t hear his footsteps approach. She whips her head up when he clears his throat, and she can feel her cheeks warm slightly in embarrassment.

“You didn’t die,” Ben says, leaning against the door frame.

She narrows her eyes at him. “Thanks for stating the obvious.”

His expression softens and he says, “The last thing you said before you passed out was that you weren’t ready to die. I promised you that I wouldn’t let that happen. You know I keep my promises.”

Oh. A hazy memory resurfaces of him saying something that she couldn’t hear. She must have spoken aloud and not realized it.

She purses her lips and looks away when she says slowly, “Thanks.”

He doesn’t reply, he just walks in and sits on the bunk across from her. After staring at each other for a moment, he finally says, “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got split open and operated on,” she says, deadpan. She furrows her brow. “How long was I out?”

“A good half a day. The droid says you are healing well. It gave you another numbing injection to help with pain,” Ben says, leaning back against the wall. He crosses his ankles and his hands rest in his lap. He looks tired, the purple under his eyes more pronounced. He has stubble and she thinks this might be the first time she’s seen him not completely clean shaven. The silly, silly man is quite fond of keeping up his appearance.

Not that she doesn’t keep up her appearance, but her reasoning is purely for, as Ben once made fun of her for, _aesthetic_. She likes looking good, and she likes looking good for Ben. He always looks so hungry when he sees her covered in black clothing.

“You should rest,” she advises him. His eyes slip closed as though they were commanded, then blink open again slowly, still fighting sleep. She repeats, “Rest, Ben. I can manage.” This time, he listens, settling down on his side.

She wanders the Falcon for a while, poking around the various supplies Ben is currently transporting and generally trying to keep herself entertained. She sits and tries to play a one-man game of Dejarik, but gets too distracted recalling their last tryst, when Ben had fucked her bent over the table. Eventually she finds herself back in the bunk room, eyes drooping from the painkillers. She eyes the empty bunk that she had woken up on, but in the end settles curled up against Ben’s back. For the warmth, of course.

* * *

Ben finds her several hours later in the main hold, testing her mobility by doing various stretches. The painkillers wore off hours ago, and she refused a new dose when the droid offered. While it still hurts, it’s a tolerable level of pain. She had endured worse in her life; the scars littering her body are a testament to that. Ben, on the other hand, has very few old wounds. While she uses violence to get herself out of tricky situations, Ben, much like his father, uses words to avoid skirmishes.

This is why she’s not surprised when he protests at her movements. “Stop, Kira! You’re going to reopen it!” he bemoans, pulling at the ends of his hair in frustration. She smirks, moving to stretch her fingertips down to her toes.

“Relax, Solo. The bacta patch is working its magic. It will be healed into a pretty scar soon enough,” she says, standing upright. If she’s being honest, the worst feeling is the uncomfortable tugging sensation of the bacta patch holding her skin together whenever she twists a certain way.

He still doesn’t look pleased. She approaches him slowly, giving him an appreciative once-over. He’d foregone a shirt, so his glorious muscles were on full display. The tips of his ears, which are poking from his hair, turn pink. It amuses her that no matter how many times they have had sex, he still manages to be self-conscious with her, like her judgement matters. It warms her cold, angry heart.

“I need to maintain my strength,” she explains, stepping right up to him. She places her hands on the bare skin of his abs. He shivers under her touch. She glides her hands up his pecs and then rests them on his shoulders, giving him a sultry look. “I can think of a much preferable exercise, if you would like to help me out,” she suggests, raising an eyebrow.

To her surprise, Ben snorts with laughter. “That was a very cheesy line,” he comments, shaking his head. He rests his hands on her hips, pulling her closer to him. “You’re sure you feel up to it?”

Oh, now she just takes that as a challenge. Instead of answering, she drags his head down to her for a searing kiss that leaves them both breathless. Ben pulls her body flush against his, and she immediately takes notice of the hard length pressing against her beneath his pants. She pulls him in for another kiss and reaches between them to squeeze his cock. He moans against her lips and the next thing she knows, she is pressed against the wall.

They’re already at an imbalance on the clothes front - she’s still only wearing undergarments - so she tugs at his belt and tosses it away, reaching down into his pants to grip him, rubbing her thumb over the tip. He bucks against her involuntarily and grunts against her lips, and she can’t help but smile wickedly. She wants to drive him wild with want.

In response, he tugs off her bra, taking one nipple into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it. She cries out, and she can feel his sudden hesitance. Surely he can tell the difference between a cry of pleasure and one of pain? She grinds her hips up against him to prove her point, causing him to make a strangled sound in the back of his throat.

“Don’t be gentle on my part,” she commands in a tone that leaves no room for argument. She is suddenly ravenous for him. That seems to be all the scolding he needs, for then they are both tugging off their remaining clothes. He shoves her against the wall in response, thoughts of her wound forgotten.

She braces her arms against the wall and presses her ass against him. “No,” he says, taking command. She shivers in delight at his tone. That’s what she likes about him; they take no shit from each other and both like to dominate - and be dominated.

He spins her around so that she faces him and pins her arms against the wall above her with one hand. His other hand disappears between her legs, rubbing her clit in a way that makes her go weak in the knees. He knows what she likes, and he sets a pace that has her mewling with pleasure. Still, it’s not enough. She wants to feel him inside her. She tells him as much, but all he does is nip at her earlobe.

“Please,” she whines. “Ben!”

Calling his name seems to be his undoing, because then she is being lifted up and he is slipping inside of her to the hilt. Her legs wrap automatically wrap around his waist, bringing him closer to her. His hips seem to stutter at first, but then he sets a rapid pace, her back slamming against the wall.

She’s clawing at his back, tipping her head back in ecstasy, when she feels his lips moaning, “Stay,” against her throat. She can’t bring herself to respond, not while she can feel her orgasm building up to a crescendo. He shifts her slightly and she can feel him slamming right against that sweet spot, and then her muscles are tightening around his cock. She cries out and digs her nails into his back.

He follows her over the edge, spilling his cum inside her with a loud moan. He’s riding out the last of his orgasm, his hips still thrusting sporadically, when he says again, “Stay.” She is too blissed out to say anything in response. He lowers her to the ground, slipping out of her and leaning beside her against the wall. They are both slick with sweat and panting for breath. “Kira,” he says, but she interrupts him.

“Rey.”

He looks at her in puzzlement. “What?”

“My name. It’s Rey,” she admits. It’s the first time she’s spoken her given name since she was a child. She’s held it close to her for her entire life, unwilling to share such a private piece of herself with anyone. Yet, she finds herself happily giving it to Ben. She thinks it’s because he is the first person she’s trusted fully since her parents abandoned her on Jakku. She certainly never fully trusted any of the Dathomirians or the First Order, who were all equally as likely to stab her in the back.

“Rey,” he whispers irreverently, like it is the most beautiful name he has ever heard. He steps in front of her and places a gentle kiss against her lips, in sharp contrast to their usual roughness. “Stay,” he chants again against her skin.

It’s something he’s asked of her the last half dozen times they met. He doesn’t like that she’s always at war, putting her life at risk for a cause he doesn’t support. Her answer is always, resolutely, “No.” But something is different within Rey, and for the first time, she considers his request. She always finds freedom aboard the Falcon with the infamous smuggler Ben Solo. While remaining with him will never guarantee her safety (he has many bounties on his head, after all), she will always be free. And loved.

She stays.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is my first time publishing real smut. *hides* I had a need to write Dark!Rey and Smuggler!Ben, and figured this might be a good time to try it out. Also, my headcanon is that Rey was taken in by a Dathomirian and trained as a dark sider, and now is part of the Knights of Ren. Obviously, Ben went the route of his father and did not succumb to the dark side. You can decide whether or not he still has the Force.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this treat!
> 
> Find me on tumblr at forcebondedreylo.


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